


The Sleeper Wakes

by molo (esteefee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Chromatic Character, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-27
Updated: 2005-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams can be a guide to life. They can also be awful confusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleeper Wakes

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to CC for her sterling patented beta technique.

He could feel Hutch all around him, smell him, feel the weight of him like a pressure against his face. But he couldn't see him.

"I hate this," Starsky thought he said.

"How come, buddy?" The voice was low and husky, just like he remembered it.

"Because you're not really here, and when I wake up...."

"Don't think about that. I'm here now."

Warmth brushed against Starsky's leg, trailing up his thigh, moving toward his balls.

"Impossible," he whispered. "Now I _know_ I'm dreaming."

"Oh, yeah?" A deep chuckle in his ear, and then a familiar weight was pressing down on him, all over his body.

"You would never do this," Starsky muttered, but he reached up to hold on, feeling smooth, naked skin under his hands. It was wonderful. "Oh, God, or _that_ —"

"This?" His cock was being stroked, fondled lightly.

"Jesus." Starsky rolled away, pushed himself up. His eyes were still closed, though he was trying desperately to open them, to _see_.

"You don't want me?"

"Of course I do. Fucking idiot." Starsky could feel his own panting, quick and light, and the pounding of his heart throbbing in his cock. "Always did. Never did anything about it, though, did I?

"Why didn't you?" Hutch sounded genuinely curious.

"Lots of reasons. Doesn't matter. Too late, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's too late. I'm gone."

"You're not!" Sudden anger and grief and fear shot through him. "You could wake up anytime! Anytime! The doctors don't know _shit_ , Hutchinson. They don't know you. You've never been a quitter—"

"Oh yeah? Quit after Lionel, didn't I? You're deluding yourself, you know that? I'm already a goner." Hutch's voice sounded angry now, too. "You should just let me go. Pull the goddamn plug. Instead, you're leaving me hanging."

"No! No..." It was too much. Starsky rolled back to the voice and grabbed, holding on tight. He spread his legs, wanting it. "Fuck me," he rasped out. "Be real to me, Hutch. Just once...."

"Just this once," came the eager voice, and then there was pressure, and killing pleasure, and Starsky moaned and twisted under it, trying to get closer, trying to make it real. He came with a cry.

And awoke, the sheets damp and cold against his groin.

He was alone.

ooOoo

The route was a familiar one, even in the pre-dawn light. He had traveled this road countless times in the past month, at first with a quaking fear, and then with an ever-increasing despair that he tried constantly to deny.

He parked the Torino in the lot behind the hospital, in the space that was closest to the entrance just down the hall from Hutch's room. The nurses and orderlies he passed were all familiar faces, and he nodded and waved his newspaper at them.

At Hutch's room, he paused just outside the door to listen. One time he had walked in to find them doing _stuff_ to Hutch, and the indignity of it, of witnessing Hutch so helpless, had practically killed him. Now he always checked to make sure Hutch was alone.

He was. They had him on his right side today, and one arm was resting on top of the blanket, the ever-present IV inserted into the back of his hand. The pale face was slack, utterly relaxed, as it had never been as long as Starsky had known his partner. Once, when Hutch was stricken by the plague, Dr. Kaufman had likened him to a sleepy boy, but this sleep didn't have the innocence of youth, but the laxness of a corpse. The realization made Starsky shudder. He wanted to reach out and shake Hutch, slap him, do _something_ to get some sort of reaction, see some sign of life behind the still features.

Instead, he pulled up his usual chair and dropped into it. "Hey, buddy," he said, forcing lightness into his tone. "Thought I'd stop by for a few before goin' to work."

Hutch's slow breathing was the only response.

 _'You're leaving me hanging.'_ Starsky shivered and unfolded his paper, and started reading the top stories, paraphrasing them for Hutch, with commentary. He read for an hour, occasionally looking over to see his partner's unchanging face. Unchanging, in all these weeks.

_At first, when Hutch had survived the accident, Starsky assumed he would just bounce back like always, as soon as the medical stuff had been taken care of. But as time went on, he felt less and less sure. And the words of support and encouragement from the other cops, and Dobey and Huggy, had grown thin and hollow-sounding._

_"It's been almost two weeks, Doc. When's he gonna wake up?" Starsky couldn't hide the tremor in his voice, and he firmed his stance. Not a good idea to show any anxiety or weakness in front of the medical staff. They always got all soothing and untruthful._

_"We can find no medical reason for the continuing coma, as I told you, Detective. The surgery was a success. There's no longer any undue pressure on the cerebral cortex, and the original damage was minor. All we can do is wait and see." Dr. Franklin looked a little defensive. Starsky found himself wishing the man weren't quite so damned tall. It put Starsky at a disadvantage in dealing with him._

_"So what you're saying is, you don't know when. You don't know why he's still out, and you don't know if he's coming back."_

_"Give it time," was Franklin's feeble answer._

"The mayor wants to start up a special Crime Taskforce. I guess without the two of us out there the criminal element is outta control. You wanna wake up and do something about it, hotshot?" He tried to make it sound teasing but could hear his own desperation. Ever since his dream he'd been unable to shake the feeling of hopelessness. Starsky sighed and rose. "Guess I should go back to my desk and make like I can help the situation any. Don't give the nurses any grief today, okay?"

Before he left, he reached down to brush the hair back from Hutch's forehead. They had trimmed it and shaved it near his temple for the surgery, but some longer strands remained. "Think I'll give you a haircut tomorrow, even this out a bit." The blond hair felt rough and dirty under his fingers. "Give you a shampoo, too. Nobody does a wash-and-set like Tyrone."

Before leaving, he turned on the bedside radio, making sure it was tuned to NPR. He took one last glance before walking out. Hutch was in exactly the same position as when he'd arrived.

_Oh, God, babe. What am I gonna do?_

ooOoo

After a month of investigating the hit-and-run, Starsky was finally making a bit of headway on the case. The car that had struck Hutch, running a red light to do it, had finally been located, identified by the odd spots of primer and various other distinctive marks he'd gathered from witness accounts. The vehicle was found abandoned by the old 'Red Car' tracks near downtown. Starsky went down to the impound lot and started going over the car inch by inch.

His eye carefully avoided the large dent on the hood. According to witnesses, Hutch had jumped up at the last second, striking the hood and then the windshield before he went flying. It was the only reason the impact hadn't been instantaneously fatal.

Starsky found that the vehicle identification number had been welded off, and he could find no slips of paper or other trash in the car that might serve to finger who had owned the damned thing. But there was an almost-familiar stink inside the car, a fragrance he recognized as cheap cologne he'd smelled on one snitch or other. As if he'd needed that clue to know whoever had done this was a lowlife.

Still, it was awfully familiar.

Now that he had the full make and model of the vehicle, he went to R&I and bugged Collins for a list of owners in the greater Bay City area. He started crosschecking the names against license information and was halfway down the list when Dobey's bellow pulled him into his captain's office.

"What is it, Cap?"

"Starsky, this report is practically unreadable! You have typos and corrections every third word...." Dobey rattled the page at him with a look of exasperation.

"Well, geez, you know I'm no typist. Hu—" Starsky cut himself off. "Well, I guess you know who did the typing."

Dobey dropped his eyes and cleared his throat.

 _Uh oh._ Starsky reached across the desk to snag the sheet. "I'll re-type it right away, sir," he said hastily, trying to get away quickly.

"Dave."

 _Oh, man, I hate when he calls me that._ Starsky waited, his back to his captain.

Another uncomfortable sound, then, "How's he doing, son?"

"Same," Starsky said shortly. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn't quite turn around. The door was calling to him.

"Does the doctor say any—"

"He doesn't know, Cap. Look, I'm gonna go re-work this for you, okay?" Starsky got out fast, not waiting for a dismissal.

He put his investigation on hold and by end of shift had re-typed three of his most recent reports. All of it was backlogged work from Before. At the stroke of five he clocked out and headed over to the hospital to spend visiting hours with Hutch.

On the way over, he stopped for some scissors and a shaving kit.

ooOoo

"That feels good," Starsky murmured. The warmth that was bathing his groin seemed to come from everywhere at once. He tried to open his eyes but something was still forcing them closed.

"Wanna see you...." Starsky whined.

"What's there to see?" Hutch asked with a laugh. "You know this ugly mug like the back of your hand."

"I get scared, Hutch. Sometimes I forget—what your mouth did when you made that noise like you were disgusted with what I was eating, or how your eyes looked when you were worried about me...."

"I was never worried about you." Such confidence in that voice.

"Yeah, huh? What about the time I got shot up with poison? Or when we were in the back of that restaurant? And you leaned against the wall and all I could think was 'I'm letting him down. He needs me.'"

"You could never let me down." A wash of warm air touched his face, and Starsky could sense those lips coming near him, but they didn't touch.

"Or when I got shot," Starsky whispered. The warmth went away.

"You let me down by getting shot?"

"No, by...dying from it."

There was a pause, then, "Partners aren't supposed to do that, huh?"

"No." Starsky swallowed the lump, but the wetness came anyway, seeping past his shuttered lids. "You better not—"

"Or what?" Hutch sounded amused.

"Or I swear to God I'll hate you."

The warmth disappeared, and Starsky awoke, tears damp and cold on his face.

He was alone.

ooOoo

"Hutch! You are never gonna believe—" Starsky cut himself off and took the time to turn down the radio and strip off his jacket before seating himself next to the bed.

Hutch was on his back today. His newly-trimmed, clean hair curled a little at his forehead. Starsky looked admiringly at his work, then let his eyes drift to Hutch's mouth, and the startling nakedness of his upper lip.

Starsky smiled a little. At the time he'd given Hutch the shave, he'd thought to himself, _Hutch'll kill me when he sees what I've done._ Of course, that had been part of why he'd done it. _Go ahead, wake up and clock me one, Blintz. I dare ya._

"So, I got a list of people who had owned that make and model, babe. And you won't believe whose name popped up." Starsky paused as if to wait for the eager question. "Fat Rolly, that's who! That sonofabitch cracked like a bad tooth as soon as I pulled his ass into the interrogation room. He saw you crossing the street, and I guess he thought he could finally pay us both back for busting him so many times. He's in the slams now, charged with attempted murder and aggravated assault and a whole bunch of special circumstances on the rap."

Starsky leaned in close and put his hand on Hutch's arm, ignoring the wasted feel of the flesh there. He squeezed once, then let his hand smooth down the golden hair on Hutch's forearm. Suddenly his throat swelled up, and he had to choke back the tears that threatened.

"Dammit, Hutch. I got him, didya hear? I had him in there, and when he figured out he was busted he snarled at me like a rat with rabies. He sounded so fucking pleased about what he'd done...." The rage and frustration finally leaked from his tear ducts, and Starsky bent his head over Hutch's arm and wiped the moisture onto the warm flesh. "Oh, God, Hutch. Please, babe."

Silence answered him.

ooOoo

"How long has it been, man?" Huggy asked him without preamble. The same question he always asked whenever Starsky came into the Pits. Which was probably one of the reasons he hadn't visited much lately.

The other being that he just didn't belong there without Hutch. Couldn't bear to see all the sympathetic glances from the regulars who knew the story, or the gentle concern pouring from Anita as she pulled him one from the tap.

"One month, one week," Starsky said tiredly, then drank from his glass, his other hand clenched tight into a fist under the bar where no one could see it.

"Maybe it's time you—"

"Do me a favor and don't finish that sentence, Hug. Why'd you call me down here, anyway?"

"Why'dya think?" Huggy looked exasperated. "You haven't been by for two weeks. I was starting to think I had serious B.O."

"I've been...busy." Starsky looked down into his beer.

"Busy being a jerk," Huggy said. By the time Starsky could react, lifting his head, Huggy had turned away to say something to Anita. Starsky felt a pang of guilt.

"Any other reason?" Starsky asked when Huggy turned back to him.

"Yeah. Could use your help this weekend moving some things from my momma's house. She just got some new furniture in, and I'm taking some of the old stuff to my pad. Nice, _heavy_ old oak pieces." Huggy gave him a keen look.

"Sure thing, Huggy. As long as it's not during visiting hours, I'm your man."

Huggy gave him a wince of concern, and Starsky dropped his head again, not wanting to see it.

"How long you gonna do this, huh? You think Hutch would want you to—"

"Well, I don't know, pal. Why don't you go down there and ask him!" Starsky shot out, anger boiling over into his voice. "Just sit yourself next to him and ask him what he wants. If he wants me there yammering at him all the time. Or even if he wants me to give up and have them stop force-feeding him because, God knows why, the idiot gave me power over his fucking life. And death."

Starsky wasn't looking, so when the long fingers of Huggy's bony hand suddenly gripped his arm, he started in surprise, sloshing his beer.

"God, Huggy, I don't know what to do. And I don't think I can stand this. He just lies there, like some sleeping beauty out of a fairy tale, only this ain't no fairy tale, he's just...gone. Hutch is gone."

There, he'd said it at last, and the words unlocked something awful. Starsky slid off the barstool and hustled through the front door and out to the Torino. Once inside he let it go, the tears shuddering out of him like bullets. After a while he sensed a shadow at the window, and cracked it down, wiping his eyes hastily.

"Starsky," Huggy said, his voice low, "you gotta let me help, man. You gotta talk to someone about it."

But Starsky didn't want to talk to anyone. No one but Hutch. When had he ever been able to tell the painful stuff to anyone else? But he used to, he realized. He used to talk to Huggy more, before he met Hutch. Starsky looked up into the concerned brown eyes.

"Yeah, okay, Hug." Starsky cleared his throat. "I'll...we'll talk this weekend, after moving the furniture. Sound good?"

Huggy gave a quick smile, his mobile face creasing with the effort. "Sounds good, amigo. See you Saturday."

Starsky nodded and started up the Torino.

ooOoo

That night he didn't dream of Hutch. He dreamt he was talking to his mom, who had died just a few months before he was shot. He'd always been grateful for that, but now, in his dream, she knew about it. And she was giving him shit.

"I always knew that job was dangerous. How many times did I tell you you could do something else? You could do anything you set your mind to, you know that!"

"Ma...c'mon. Not this again."

She rustled around and, like a magic trick, produced a tray with a plate of _spaetzel_ and some chicken. "Here, _boychick_ , you have to eat something. You're nothing but skin and bones."

"I'm not hungry. I never seem to be hungry anymore, Ma."

"Of course you're not. You're so worried about your friend."

"Hutch...they're feeding him with tubes and he just gets skinnier and skinnier. I don't understand how—"

The tray was pushed into his lap. All of a sudden there was a bowl with a flower in it sitting next to his plate. A camellia. Just like she had done for him when she brought him food in bed when he was sick. As if the flower would help him get better. The familiar, vanilla-like odor filled his nostrils.

"I'm not sick, Ma."

His mother didn't say anything, but now there was a plate of Oreos sitting next to the chicken.

"I'm not _sick_."

_I'm broken._

ooOoo

The next day Dobey tried to give him a new partner.

"You've gotta be kidding, Cap." Starsky crossed his arms, pressing them tight against his gut.

"Just a temporary change, Dave. I need you back out there. The mayor's a little worried about the polls, and we're getting all kinds of pressure."

Starsky clenched his teeth so hard he could feel his cheeks bulge.

"It'll be good for you to get out onto the streets for a while," Dobey cajoled.

 _I'll quit. I'll just up and quit. And then I can go spend more time with Hutch._ Although why he wanted to was a mystery. It just made it hurt worse, seeing Hutch lying there so goddamned still. Hutch had never been still, always moving his big hands, touching things, or tapping his foot, or sometimes humming something under his breath, real quiet. The only time he was still was when he was very, very angry. Then he went stone dead, every muscle looking like it was chiseled in granite. Right before he exploded.

_See? I remember, Hutch. I remember everything._

"No way," Starsky said at last to Dobey. "Stick me somewhere else if you need to. Hell, put me in Records if you want. I can practice typing."

Dobey sighed. "I don't know how much more time I can give you—"

"I don't need _time_."

Why was everyone trying to give him what he didn't need? He only needed one thing.

And they couldn't give it to him.

ooOoo

He felt if he could just open his eyes, just once, it could be real.

But the darkness trapped his lids, just as he was pinned again under a heavy body that was moving against his, the smell of Hutch wrapping around him. Starsky pushed hard and rolled over on top of him, pressing into him.

Hutch was moaning.

"You like that, huh?" Starsky ground against him. And for the first time he could feel it, Hutch's cock. It was hard. "I wanna fuck you, babe. I wanna fuck you so bad."

"Then you have to wake up," Hutch said, sounding breathless.

" _I'm_ not the one sleeping," Starsky said, angry.

"I mean it. Wake up, Starsky. Wake UP!"

ooOoo

The nurse gave him a funny look as he passed her desk on the way to the room, and when he went in he found another nurse there, making notes on Hutch's chart.

"What is it? What's happened?" Starsky's heart started racing. Was Hutch dying? Would he die now, slip away as if this past month were just a little space of time to make it easier? If so, it hadn't helped a bit.

"Nothing, it's..." The nurse finished her notation before continuing, "There have been some signs."

"Signs?" God, he was going to strangle her if she didn't talk fast.

"Yes, he's responding to pain stimulus, and has opened his eyes, occasionally moved his hands..."

His heart gave a sickening lurch before stepping up another two notches. "You mean he might be waking up." He didn't make it a question. Pure superstition.

"You'll have to talk to the doctor about that," the nurse said cautiously. She reached up and tucked a wisp of hair back under her cap before leaving him alone with the patient.

"Is it true, babe? You gonna show me those baby blues?" Starsky said, his voice gone shaky and old. It seemed impossible. Hutch looked the same as he always did, his face utterly blank. Starsky sighed and pulled up his seat.

"You have to wake up, Hutch. You have to, 'cause I gotta tell ya, I'm losing my mind, here. I'm having these dreams...you'd laugh if I told you about them."

There was no response, of course. Starsky took a deep breath.

"Thing is, I've been dreaming...about us. About us, together. You know..." Starsky rubbed his face with his hands. When he dropped them, his eyes fell to Hutch's hand.

It was twitching. The fingers were moving.

"Oh my God." Starsky jumped up and leaned over the bed, his throat hurting from holding back a shout. He leaned in close over Hutch's face, zeroing in, looking for the slightest movement.

Nothing.

Starsky looked back down at Hutch's hand. It was still.

_'He's responding to stimulus.'_

Starsky put his hand in Hutch's and squeezed, at first lightly, then harder. Hutch's hand tried to pull away.

"Oh God. Oh, babe." Starsky leaned over the bed again, lowering his face until they were inches apart. "Time to wake up, sleeping beauty." His heart was trying its damnedest to climb up his throat.

He felt like he was still dreaming, so he did the most natural thing in the world. He leaned down the final inches and laid his mouth lightly against Hutch's.

Hutch's lips twitched under his.

Starsky pulled back with a gasp, his pulse pounding. He suddenly wanted to run down the hallway, grab the nearest nurse, and start to mambo. _He could wake up. He will. Hutch is gonna wake up._

Starsky rushed to grab the phone.

ooOoo

  
Two days later, Starsky was getting awful tired of the term 'vegetative state.' He'd called Dobey and asked to be put on temporary leave, then called Huggy and begged out of helping with the furniture move. He didn't want to miss it if Hutch woke up.  


For the next forty-eight hours he'd practically chained himself to Hutch's bed, annoying the hell out of the nurses and other hospital staff. But it was worth it. Hutch was definitely showing signs of waking up. Every time he did something new, moved his legs, or turned his head, or reacted to some noise in the room, Starsky's heart would do another back flip.

The second evening he fell asleep in the chair, his feet propped up on the base of Hutch's bed. And he dreamed.

Hutch was sitting in front of him.

"I can see you!" Starsky _could_ see him. Plain as day, alive and awake.

"Good for you," said Hutch. He was seated on the side of the bed, working his leg muscles using some sort of crazy contraption involving weights and springs, while Starsky watched in amazement. "So, you mind telling me what that kiss was about?" Hutch asked.

"Well, that's a hell of a thing to ask me when we've been fucking like rabbits in my dreams the past few weeks."

"That was the dream me. This is the _real_ me," Hutch said, his face forbidding.

Starsky swallowed.

"The real me would like to know what the hell is going on, Starsk. You never swung that way in your life."

"What do you know about it?" Starsky asked, unable to believe they were having this conversation. "Hutch, you're alive. You're awake. What does it matter if I...if I—"

"You _kissed_ me," Hutch said, shortly. "That's like...that's practically necrophilia."

"We didn't _neck_ ," Starsky said weakly.

"I hate it when you act stupid." Hutch moved the contraption to his other leg and continued his exercise. "You'd better get this all straightened out in your head before I wake up. It was all very well and good, fucking me when there wasn't a chance I'd be coming out of it. But now all bets are off."

"Off?" Starsky's gut grew cold.

"Sure. You didn't think it could go on like that, did you? Time to stuff the genie back in the bottle."

"Right." Starsky watched as Hutch pulled off the device and climbed back into bed.

"Gonna kick your ass when I wake up," Hutch mumbled, closing his eyes. "Don't think I haven't noticed that I'm missing one extremely fine-looking moustache."

Starsky awoke, shivering. The room was lit softly with the early morning light. He pulled the extra blanket from under his feet and wrapped it around his shoulders, pondering the dream. Then he looked up.

Hutch's eyes were watching him.

"Huh—" Starsky's throat closed up on him. "Hutch?" The blanket tangled with his legs as he hastily rose from his seat and lurched to stand over his partner. "Hutch."

Hutch blinked and stared, tracking him. He looked wide awake.

"Oh. Oh, man." Starsky leaned over to turn on the light, and Hutch winced at the sudden brightness.

"Buddy, can you hear me? Hutch?" Starsky reached down and grabbed Hutch's arm. "God, babe. Talk to me, please!"

But Hutch didn't. Not then. It was days before he finally croaked Starsky's name, and another few before he was responding fully. Starsky spent the days in a haze of disbelief and grudging relief. He wasn't sure how far back Hutch would make it; even the doctors weren't sure, but they came by a lot, in groups of three and four, to marvel over the miracle boy. Starsky kept a careful eye for when Hutch started to grow restless and uncomfortable with all the prodding and attention, and then he would shoo them away like so many flies and settle down to babble at Hutch some more. About work, about Merle's latest artistic invention. Or sometimes about nothing at all. But Hutch appeared to be listening, his eyes following Starsky when he moved about the room.

Huggy came by, and Dobey and Edith and the kids, and Hutch managed to smile at them. But it wasn't until the afternoon of the third day, when they were alone, that he started speaking in coherent sentences.

The first thing he said was, "What...happened?" His voice was rusty and dry.

A rush of emotion swept over Starsky, and he moved to get him a cup of water and a straw, buying himself a little time.

  
"Don't you remember any of it?" He watched while Hutch sipped some of the water and then started coughing. Since he'd woken up he seemed to be having trouble swallowing.  


"Last thing I remember was..." Hutch looked confused. "Disco? We were at a disco. No...work?" Hutch shrugged, his eyes a little scared.

"You were crossing the street outside of Parker. The fucker ran a red light right in front of the station, but there was no one rolling who saw it. It was night time." Starsky put the cup down. He wanted desperately to take Hutch's hand, hold it like he'd gotten used to doing this past month. But Hutch was awake now.

"When? When did all this happen? I'm so weak..." Hutch lifted his arm, staring at it in concern. It gave Starsky an excuse to reach for him.

"It's been a while, buddy. Over a month." He squeezed Hutch's hand when his face fell at the news.

"No wonder you don't look so good," Hutch said quietly.

"Feel like a million bucks, now," Starsky said, forcing a grin. From Hutch's expression, it wasn't a very convincing try.

"Jesus, what's gonna happen...with work? Do I still have a job? My apartment?"

Starsky nodded, "I'm keeping our desk warm. And your jungle green." He paused and squeezed Hutch's hand again. "You don't have to worry about _anything_ , babe. Just about getting better."

Hutch gave a small smile, just a twist of the corner of his mouth, and then he yawned and looked embarrassed. "Can't believe I'm sleepy, if I've been asleep all this time."

"You weren't sleeping," Starsky said softly. But Hutch was already drifting off, his hand relaxing in Starsky's.

Relief was bubbling through him, and Starsky couldn't sit still. He got up and grabbed his jacket, then went outside. It was late afternoon. People were bustling around, going about their business as if this were any normal day. As if the most extraordinary thing hadn't just happened. 

Starsky jogged over to the Torino and drove to the Pits. Huggy wasn't in, but Anita was. Starsky gave her the good news and they toasted Hutch gravely with two glasses of cheap jug wine. Anita hated beer. 

After he drank down his glass, he grabbed her hand and made her dance with him while the few customers looked on with bemused smiles. Then Starsky went home and slept for ten hours straight.

He didn't dream.

ooOoo

"You have to go into work tomorrow," Hutch said firmly. His voice was almost back to normal. Not only that, but he was really starting to get cranky.

Getting to be his usual self, in other words.

He was sitting on the side of the bed, having just made his first, shaky journey to the bathroom and back. He looked dismayed at his own weakness, but Starsky couldn't stop the grin that seemed to have taken hold of his cheek muscles.

"Work, yeah," Starsky responded.

"I mean it." Hutch shot him a stern look, an absurd contrast to the hospital gown that hung on his skinny frame. "I don't want any punk rookie thinking he can steal my chair. You get over there and tell 'em I'm on my way back." Hutch put his hands on the bed and pushed up to walk back and forth some more. Starsky watched carefully, his hands at his sides, but ready to leap out and help if Hutch lost his balance.

"I will. I'll call Dobey and tell him I'm off leave."

"Good." Hutch shuffled back to his bed and sat down again. "Doc says those special shoes really saved my Achilles tendons. Used to be coma patients wouldn't be able to walk when they woke up." He looked relieved. "And they did a good job working my arms and legs...my physio coach says I should be desk-worthy in just a couple of weeks."

Starsky just smiled and listened.

"Soon as I'm out of here, I'm gonna go pay that Rolly a visit in the joint." Now Hutch was smiling, and it wasn't a pretty thing.

Starsky's grin widened when he heard the soft, evil chuckle.

"You should bring him a present. Maybe bake him a little cake."

They both laughed.

"Say, Starsk...what the hell happened to my moustache?"

ooOoo

"Why am I dreaming you?" Starsky murmured. The warmth was back, like the feeling of sunlight on his skin. "You're all better now. I see you every day. _All_ day, for cryin' out loud."

"You see me, but do you _see_?" Hutch's voice was gentle, chiding. "You're the one who pulled me back in here."

"What the hell does that mean?" Starsky tried to roll onto his side, but his body was leaden. "You know I hate that cryptic shit, Hutch. Just say what you wanna say."

"You're conflicted. You want but don't want to admit you want. You're afraid to see—"

"Don't think you can get into my head, Hutchinson. You don't know jack." He tried again to turn away from the insistent voice, but it was like his limbs were frozen to the bed.

"I _am_ in your head, mushbrain. And it's not the most pleasant place. Filled with all sorts of Brooklyn crap, and the mean streets, and ooh I don't want the other guys to see me in an apron—"

"Fuck you."

"The thing I wonder is," Hutch went on as if he hadn't spoken, "when in your life have you ever given a shit about what anyone else thinks?"

"I don't!" But then he had to amend, in a whisper, "Except you."

"Me? I'm Mr. Open Minded."

"You were mad about Johnny."

"Only at first, and only because I saw how much it hurt you. After all, _I_ was the one who said it was no big deal. And...I like plants. And classical music." The voice seemed to wink.

"That doesn't mean shit. You're the baddest motherfucker I know. Next to me, that is." Starsky smirked, and wasn't surprised to hear the testy response.

"Just remember who's got the bigger piece, pal of mine."

"Yeah, see? You wouldn't go for it, tough guy. Besides, you're vanilla pudding, Hutch. Always have been. Remember that time we got caught with our pants down in Tallman's steam room, and that pretty masseuse made you blush to your hairline?"

"That was a long time ago," Hutch growled. "I've learned a thing or two since then."

"Yeah, you've learned plenty. And it's all bad. I see you with your women. God, _all_ those women, all so, so pretty, and all happy to use you, and you don't even blink. You think I want to be the next one to break your fucking heart?" Starsky's own heart gave a stupid thump at the thought.

"You wouldn't. You'd never hurt me." There was that confidence again.

"You're so sure of me." Starsky felt cold. "I know that. I see that, too. I see you plenty, Hutch, and I don't ever want to change that, or change the way you see _me._ "

"Even if it's for the better? Even if you could have...all of me?"

Starsky couldn't come up with a reply.

"I think I'd rather be getting razzed by Ma again," he muttered.

ooOoo

Hutch was back on his feet and back at work. He still had some trouble with his balance, though, and he was deskbound until the problem cleared up. Starsky was glad. He wasn't ready to risk that blond hide again so soon, not when he just had him back.

But Hutch wasn't back, not really. He was depressed as hell, and he wouldn't tell Starsky why. Only, it was pretty obvious he was in a lot of pain getting his body to listen to him again. And it seemed like this whole thing was just another sign that they were in the wrong damned line of business.

Finally, Starsky cornered him one evening after work. He waited until Hutch was settled in before he made a surprise visit with a six-pack under one arm.

Hutch let him in without a word and returned to the couch, where he'd apparently been brooding. His guitar was leaning next to him, and he picked it up, only to hold it in his lap.

Starsky put the six-pack in the fridge, minus two, and uncapped a bottle and set it in front of Hutch. He gestured with the other at the guitar.

"Why don't you play something?"

Hutch shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. It stuck out funny from the sides.

"I can't right now. My hand is acting up." He held it up and the fingers trembled slightly before he clenched his fist and pressed his lips together.

It was just another side effect from the accident, and one the doctors weren't particularly worried about. The damage had been minimal and Hutch was supposed to recover fully. But getting there was always a bitch, Starsky remembered too well.

"It'll get better, Hutch."

"Yeah." Hutch's head dropped.

"That why you're so glum these days? Can't play?" It was silly idea, but one guaranteed to at least get a reaction.

"Well, _gee_. Maybe. And maybe it's the fact I have the body of an old man all of a sudden." Hutch glared at him.

"Not for long, Hutch. Anyway, I know that ain't it, because you were better in the hospital. It's only after you got out that you've...gotten all weird."

Hutch stared at him for a second, then looked away, sighing.

Starsky waited.

Hutch rubbed his forehead, then looked down at his hands. "Ever since I got out, and started talking to people, and reading the papers...it's like the whole world went on without me. Lewis in Vice got promoted. Linda Baylor got married ferchrissake. Cal graduated from Junior High. The world just kept turning...just like it will. Just like it didn't matter. Not that it should've," Hutch said quickly. "But it's kind of disturbing, to think how _little_ it will matter to anyone, when I—"

"Shut up." The anger had been boiling up slowly over Hutch's little speech, so by the time he reached the end Starsky was ready to blow steam. "You idiot."

Hutch looked startled. "I didn't mean _you_. Believe me, I know how bad this was—"

Starsky rode over him like a Mack truck. "You don't know the first thing about it! I was in a coma for, what, three days? You were out for a fucking _month and a half_ , Hutch. You were just _gone._ " Starsky could feel the spit flying from his lips, and Hutch's surprised look had turned to concern.

"I didn't think you were ever coming back. I didn't know if _I_ would have to be the one to put us out of our misery. And the whole time you just lay there like...like I don't _know_ what. Like you were sleeping. Like you were on easy street. Like you didn't care to even _try_ to fight back, to come back to me. It was fucking killing me." He found he was running out of air, and had to stop. He wasn't even sure where all the anger was coming from, but it was poison, like lead gas seeping out of his pores. He panted a little, surprised to discover he had stood and was pacing back and forth in front of his partner. He came to a halt and looked down at Hutch.

Hutch was staring at him with the oddest expression on his face. Starsky couldn't read it. But he did recognize a trace of amusement in the line of Hutch's mouth.

"You're _laughing_ at me? Is that it?" He was two seconds from punching Hutch's lights out all over again.

"No, no!" Hutch raised his hands and his lips gave an ironic quirk. "I was laughing at myself. For being such a self-pitying asshole, among other things."

"Oh." That was okay then.

"I just didn't know...didn't realize...." Hutch didn't finish, and his head dropped, but not before Starsky saw a faint trace of red on his cheeks. Hutch actually appeared to be blushing. Starsky was damned if he knew why.

"You gonna tell me why you look like Mary Sue Lewellen just caught you in your underwear?"

Hutch gave a short laugh and then raised his head. His mouth was open, his tongue tucked between his molars, as if he was trying to bite back what he wanted to say.

"What didn't you realize?" Starsky sat down next to Hutch and relocated his beer.

"If I told you, you'd tell me to shut up again."

"No, I wouldn't, I swear. Scout's honor." Starsky held up two fingers.

"I'm telling you...it's...soapy," Hutch said warningly.

"Okay, shoot."

Hutch flipped him a glance, then said haltingly, "It's just...I suddenly realized that even if the whole world just...went on as if I'd never existed, as if nothing I'd ever done in my life made a difference, or no one else remembered me after I was gone, it wouldn't bother me, after all." Hutch raised his eyes to meet Starsky's. "Because I mattered to _you_ , buddy." He smiled, kind of shakily, and then looked down again.

Starsky's mouth dropped open. He felt his eyes go wide, as if he'd just been jolted from a deep, deep sleep. _Jesus. I love this guy. I really, really love him._

So there was pretty much nothing in the world that could've stopped him from doing what he did next. He raised one hand and sank it into the short curls at the back of Hutch's neck, and when Hutch raised his head in surprise, Starsky was there, his lips catching Hutch's mouth in a kiss.

If he'd thought about it beforehand, he would've expected Hutch to be disgusted and jerk away. Even asleep, he'd never dared to kiss his dream Hutch.

But the real one just melted against him like snow under a flame, soft lips shocking open and taking him in.

It rocked Starsky's soul, and every muscle in his body grew suddenly taut with tension as the reality struck him. They were kissing. He was kissing Hutch. Hutch was letting him.

Starsky let out a muffled, disbelieving moan, and slipped his tongue deeper into Hutch's mouth for one sweet moment before his conscience caught up with him and he pulled back, ignoring the lips that tried to follow his hasty retreat.

"Hutch," Starsky murmured, and then opened his eyes.

The blue of Hutch's eyes was violent between his slitted lids. He looked like a crazy man, like he did on the hunt just before they caught up with some punk.

"I dreamed you kissed me, once." Hutch whispered. The lids of his eyes dropped down, and then he pulled away and looked to the side. His rough voice sounded confused, uncertain, but Starsky was sure he hadn't misread the fire before he'd lost sight of those eyes.

"I did," Starsky confessed, embarrassed.

"You did what?" Now Hutch sounded even more confused.

"Kissed you. Just for a second. When you were...when you hadn't woken up, yet."

He watched with dismay as Hutch's back stiffened. "That's...that's just plain weird, buddy."

Starsky wanted to laugh. The two of them had just played tonsil hockey like grand masters, yet Hutch was freaked by an innocent little touching of lips.

"I mean that's practically necrophilia, Starsk." Now Hutch sounded somewhat amused, but it was Starsky's turn to freak, hearing the words from his dream.

"You...you—"

"Still, I've always known you were a little on the kinky side." Hutch turned back to grin at him, and Starsky heaved a short sigh of relief.

Then Hutch's eyes dropped to his lips, and Starsky shivered.

"We gonna do that again?" Hutch asked, his words almost slurred. The color was still high on his cheeks.

 _I make him hot_ , Starsky thought, amazed _. This is better than any dream...._

"Hell, yes." Starsky said, and he was pulled into the warmth of Hutch's lips.

The next few minutes felt like forever, or one heartbeat—Starsky couldn't decide which. It seemed like he'd always been kissing Hutch, had always known this feeling of pure terror and electric excitement, like cold fire that burned as it ran through the veins of his neck, his chest and his cock. It wasn't just his dreams that had taught him this. He realized he had always felt it, on some level, when they were working together on the streets.

Now they were working out of sync on the couch, both struggling to remove each other's clothing simultaneously. Starsky got Hutch's outer shirt off only to discover he was wearing an undershirt. _Farm boy._ Hutch's hands had already found his naked chest and his nipples, and Starsky was distracted momentarily by the sensations of those fingers touching and tugging at him.

When they were finally naked, and pressed together on the couch, Starsky spared about a millisecond of thought to the strangeness of it, how much it was like his dream.

But if he was dreaming this time, he hoped it was a good, strong coma. The kind that would last a lifetime. Sweet, supple skin pressed against him, and his lips found Hutch's shoulder, and his tongue the indent at the base of his throat, and Hutch was breathing hard, but didn't make a sound until Starsky encountered one rigidly erect nipple and started bathing it with his tongue. Then Hutch was moaning, so deep, like the hum of a diesel engine, and he hooked one leg around Starsky's ass, urging him upward until their cocks were locked in a thrusting duel between their groins.

It was over way too soon, far too fast for Starsky to be prepared for the explosion when it took him, heaving him over the edge, so that he yelled in harsh surprise as he pumped his come against Hutch's belly. Hutch's hands slid down his back to grab the cheeks of his ass, and then he was bodily lifting Starsky against him, holding him down tight, his cock moving slickly between them in the wet space of skin and semen. Then he froze and Starsky felt the pulse and wane of it as Hutch came, his teeth pressed against Starsky's collarbone, his cries muffled against the skin there.

When Starsky found his breath again, Hutch's hands were still moving over his ass and up his back and then down again, over and over, as if memorizing the contours of his body. Starsky sighed and moved to the side so that part of his weight was resting on the couch.

 _I should say something. Shouldn't I?_ But he wanted to sleep. He wanted to fall asleep just to make sure he wasn't already dreaming.

His last waking thought was that Hutch's hands weren't trembling anymore.

ooOoo

"Where the hell are you?" Starsky grumbled. He felt cold on one side, and cramped, and it was dark again behind his eyelids. Where was the warmth?

He felt it then, like a sly lick across the side of his face, there and then gone again.

"You're playing games, now? Don't pull any crap with me, Hutchinson."

He heard Hutch's mocking laugh. "Told you it would work out, didn't I?"

"You big liar!" Starsky was outraged. "All you did was tease me, never letting me kiss you, making me want you all the time until finally I did something stupid."

"Well, so it worked." That laugh again, making him grit his teeth.

"But what's going to happen now? You gonna slug me when you wake up? Or maybe you'll think this was a bad idea, and go back to your stupid women, all of them with their long legs and their lying eyes." In his dream, Starsky didn't mind his own childishness.

"So little faith," Hutch said. "Didn't I wake up just for you?"

The warmth grew closer, and Starsky felt it brush against his chest. He tried to wrap his arms around it but it slipped away again.

"Dammit!" The sound of his shout shocked him, and he started sliding from the dream, moving into half-awareness, and then he felt Hutch's warm, real hand on him, stroking his waist.

"You're talking in your sleep," came the husky voice. "Who're you mad at now?"

"It's you, Hutch, you're in my dream. And you're being a real sonofabitch."

"Sorry, babe," Hutch said, giving a soft laugh. "I can't seem to help it."

"Yeah, well, tell yourself to cut it out," Starsky mumbled, his eyes still closed. The hand on his waist was still moving, learning him with a hard palm, but such gentle fingers.

"What'm I doing wrong?" Hutch asked, sounding curious.

"You keep hiding from me...and you won't let me kiss you," Starsky said resentfully. "I hate it when you won't let me kiss you."

More laughter. "Then you'd better wake up, babe."

Starsky grunted and tried with a heroic effort to open his eyes.

"Wake up, Starsky," Hutch said, honey in his voice. "Wake up." Warm lips pressed against his.

Starsky woke.

_Finis._

November 2005  
San Francisco, CA


End file.
